What I Read in August 2011

Howard Jacobson, Kalooki Nights. I’m not sure why I stayed with this book – all 450 pages of it – since I didn’t like it very much. By the author of The Finkler Question, it is a lengthy exploration of the lives of English Jews as observed and experienced by a disenchanted caricaturist (literally, he draws cartoons) in his middle years.

Charles H. Manekin, On Maimonides. This serves as a companion piece to Sherwin Nuland’s Maimonides and is a much tougher read. I comment on the two books, along with one of Maimonides’ perplexities in Maimonides Maimonides.

Ernest Hemingway, The Snows of Kilimajaro. Since I enjoyed A Moveable Feast, I thought I would give Hemingway’s this collection of his short stories a try. Too male and too mannered for me, but I enjoyed The Short and Happy Life of Francis Macomber because of what happened to Macomber after he shot the buffalo.

Theodore Dreiser, Sister Carrie. Sarah, of A Rat in the Book Pile, and I have been reading this together and cross-posting in both of our blogs. So read and comment at either place:
Sister Carrie, ~ A Dialogue
Sister Carrie, ~ A Dialogue, Part II
Sister Carrie, ~ A Dialogue, Part III
Sister Carrie, ~ A Dialogue, Part IV

Georges Simenon, Maigret and the Headless Corpse. Despite the grisly title, this is not a grisly book. It is a typical Maigret story. The Inspector considers a crime, he tries to understand the criminals, he eats a bit, he drinks a lot, he solves the mystery.

Martha Saxton, Louisa May Alcott: A Modern Biography. Not too modern any more, this biography. Published in 1977, it is a feminist take on Alcott’s sometimes difficult life. More comments may follow as I proceed with my Alcott project.

Emile Zola, The Masterpiece. Considered the most autobiographical of his novels, in The Masterpiece Zola gives us the lives of writers and artists in 188s Paris. We learn of the price of success, as well as the costs of failure.

Sister Carrie ~ A Dialogue, Part IV

This the final part of Sister Carrie, and the conclusion of the dialogue between Sarah of A Rat in the Book Pile and me. On this occasion Sarah leads the discussion, which may be found on either site.  Please be aware.  There are SPOILERS.

1. Sarah

Chapter 37 begins with the downfall of Hurstwood. His hasty and ill-considered flight from Chicago, under a cloud of his own making, has crippled his financial security, and matters now take a turn for the worse.  A further narrowing of his prospects leads to a sapping despair.  He will not consider beginning again from scratch and his desire to rejoin affluent society, at a level above that which he can realistically achieve, effectively negates his remaining chances.   Hurstwood is capable of lowering his sights, but there is always a lag, and he continually readjusts too little, too late.

Carrie begins to scent the spectre of poverty, and it isn’t what she signed up for.   The shifting balance of power is obvious, the resulting action against Hurstwood tangible:

‘He gave the matter no more thought, but slept.  In the morning she was not beside him.  Strange to say, this passed without comment.

Night approaching and a slightly more conversational feeling prevailing, Carrie said,”I think I’ll sleep alone tonight.  I have a headache.”

“All right,” said Hurstwood.

The third night she went to her front bed without apologies.

This was a grim blow to Hurstwood but he never mentioned it.’

Carrie is finally motivated to take the initiative, and begins to think again of seeking employment on the stage.

‘In a flash he thought he foresaw the result of this thing.  Now when the worst of his situation was approaching she would get on the stage in some cheap way and forsake him. Strangely, he had not conceived well of her mental ability.  That was because he did not understand the nature of emotional greatness.  He had never learned that a person might be emotionally instead of intellectually great.  Avery Hall was too far way for him to look back and sharply remember.’

Is this a fair and accurate assessment of Carrie’s nature and Hurstwood’s insight?

Nancy

It has puzzled me how Carrie and Hurstwood stayed together so long and relatively harmoniously when they had little deep affection for each other. The best explanation I come up with relates to your question. Each mis-perceived the other. Carrie saw Hurstwood as strong, confident, able to take care of both of them. She was wrong. When his comfortable props are taken away, Hurstwood descends into a passive depression.

Hurstwood, on the other hand, sees Carries as dependent, good natured, in need of assurance, attractive but with no great abilities. He is also wrong. Her abilities are limited but, faced with the need to survive, she uses them effectively. His “insight” relates almost entirely to the effect of Carrie’s defection on himself. He might better have looked at what Carrie was trying to do for Carrie. He has a true 19th-century male conviction that a woman’s purpose in life is to be attached to a man.

Sarah

I agree.  Even in nineteenth century terms Hurstwood loses his claim to Carrie’s consideration because he doesn’t fulfil his part of the bargain: to protect and provide.  However, Dreiser has not convinced me of the consistency of Carrie’s ‘emotional greatness.’

2. Sarah

Dreiser foreshadows the eventual outcome with chilling precision:

‘The house-dog, held until middle age in comfort, will die of starvation if turned out into the woods to hunt alone.  The house-dog, turned out a puppy, becomes a wolf, or so much like one that the difference is one of appearance only.  So man, held until middle age in peace and plenty, forgets the art of shifting and doing.  The skill and wit of the mind is atrophied.  He appears to be something and lo, the poor brain argues that it must live up to that something, else it is disgraced.  Courage to belie its feelings is not there.  It must sit and wonder, waiting for the thing which it can do.  It can scarcely change itself sufficiently to do as the thing requires.’

By the end of the novel Carrie is a successful woman, financially and, potentially, emotionally.  Hurstwood has failed on all counts.  Carrie’s sympathetic friend Ames, talking generally of a fictional character, states:

‘ “He didn’t fail in anything but love and fortune, and that isn’t everything” ‘

Ames is financially comfortable, and I wonder if Dreiser is poking fun at the naivety of wealth, but then  he himself says, of Hurstwood’s last defeated action:

‘It was a truly wintry evening a few days later when his one distinguished mental decision was reached.’

Dreiser has subverted the moral notions of the time by allowing his female protagonist to triumph in the face of immorality, but Hurstwood suffers horribly.   I notice that in this last installment I have focused almost entirely on Hurstwood.   On paper Carrie has my sympathy and admiration.  In practice I feel that her behaviour is not above reproach.  Not in terms of sexual compromise, but in terms of her loyalty.

Is Dreiser’s sympathy entirely with Carrie?  And what purpose does Hurstwood’s demise serve? 

Nancy

Dreiser’s book succeeds because he goes for the big picture, mostly. He sees the social problem of opportunity denied — to Hurstwood after he changes environments, to Carrie because she is uneducated and a woman. He sees Hurstwood’s failings, as much a result of his social conceptions as his own weakness. He sees Carrie, a person with no strong moral convictions but a desire for pleasure and the good life, as able to use the system to good effect.

I don’t think sympathy is what Dreiser does. He wants to show us the reality most of us would rather ignore. And yet…. Hurstwood’s death shows the cost of failure and some hint that Dreiser does really sympathize with him.

Sarah

Expecting the novel to be concerned primarily with the place of the woman in the social order I was initially puzzled by the emphasis on Hurstwood, but I agree with your observation that Dreiser is interested in the workings of society in general, within the big city in particular.

I also think you are right in respect of Dreiser’s objectivity, but it seems to me that he lapses from time to time, particularly on the subject of Carrie.   His depiction of Carrie does not always appear to match her actions, and verges occasionally on the sentimental.  I might consider this a flaw, but one of the things I appreciated in Sister Carrie was the variations of narrative tone.

3. Sarah

The conclusion of this novel is immensely moving, and Drieser seems to maintain the inevitability of cause and effect right to the end.

‘By January he had about concluded that the game was up with him.  Life had always seemed a precious thing, but now constant want and a weakened vitality had made the charms of earth rather dull and inconspicuous.  Several times, when fortune pressed most harshly, he thought he would end his troubles, but with  a change of weather, or the arrival of a quarter or a dime, his mood would change and he would wait.’

Nonetheless, my suspicion is that what I have taken from the book is not what Dreiser intended.

The back of my copy states that Dreiser has an objective, non-moralising approach.  Do you agree with this description?   Can you sum up your overall view and final impression of the novel?

Nancy

Dreiser does not intend to moralize but he can’t help himself sometimes, and I can certainly understand that. Some of his comments are more in the nature of sarcastic social commentary than moralizing, as in his description of the public lives of the rich and well connected.

My final impression of the book is as described in response to your previous question. Dreiser tells the story of three people — Carrie, Drouet, Hurstwood — and how they struggle and succeed or fail in an America which values wealth above all things. The shallow, rather happy, Drouet does the best, especially because he does not question the system. Hurstwood, who initially was doing well, violated the social codes (stole money, left his wife) and could not handle the consequences. His tragedy was his failure to foresee the consequences and to misjudge his own capacities. He plays by male rules and he dies.

Carrie violates the norms of female virtue, not out of passion, but for perfectly rational reasons. She seems not to regret this very much and it enables her to live a comfortable life. When that is no longer possible, she takes care of herself, using whatever small talents she may have to become self supporting. Now she has money, but is she happy? Of course not!

There is a question throughout the book: how can we achieve happiness and fulfillment? We get two partial answers. (1) You can be happy if, like Drouet, you stay within the system. (2) Money alone cannot make you happy.

Sarah

A masterly summing up, Nancy!

I felt not that Dreiser was non-moralising, but that he is redrawing moral guidelines.  There is a necessity to Carrie’s immorality which demands understanding.  Drouet’s vice is frivolous but, in a sense, harmless, and it is ‘fair.’  Contrasted against these justified falls from virtue Hurstwood constitutes a fine example of the irredeemable.  He has abandoned his family and cannot support the woman he has seduced.  To him falls the traditional fate of the unchaste woman (Tess of the d’Urbevilles is even mentioned at one point).  Hurstwood’s death is graphic and shocking, and questions the convention of rewarding virtue and punishing vice more effectively than Carrie’s comparatively undramatic success.

This is the official conclusion of our discussion of Sister Carrie, which we have enjoyed immensely, whatever our regular readers have been able to make of it Comments are, of course, always welcome, on both sites.   My thanks to Sarah, who has been a very good sport in working through our sometimes convolut4ed dialogue. And if you haven’t yet read Sister Carrie, we encourage you to give it a try.

Sister Carrie ~ A Dialogue, Part III

Sarah, of A Rat in the Book Pile, and I continue our discussion of Theodore Dreiser’s novel, Sister Carrie. This section covers Chapters 25 through 36. Sarah will then lead the comments on the rest of the book.

1. Nancy

You could call this section a tale of three cities. Carrie leaves Chicago, goes briefly to Montreal, then settles with Hurstwood in New York. Initially Carrie had found Chicago intimidating, but she came with an intent to enjoy it if  she could and, mostly, she did.

Montreal does not interest her much, but Hurstwood promises her New York: “You’ll like that. It’s a lot more like a city than any place outside Chicago.” Carrie’s initial reaction is rather negative.

 “Where is the residence part?” asked Carrie, who did not take the tall five-story walls on either hand to be the abodes of families.

“Everywhere,” said Hurstwood, who knew the city fairly well. “There are no lawns in New York. All these are houses.”

“Well, then, I don’t like it,” said Carries, who was coming to have some opinions of her own.

As Carrie gains knowledge and some small experience of the luxury and gloss of New York, she is very impressed.

 Carrie walked with an air equal to that of Mrs. Vance, and accepted the seat which the head waiter provided for her. She was keenly aware of all the little things that were done–the little genuflections and attentions of the waiters and head waiter which Americans pay for. The air with which the latter pulled out each chair, and the wave of the hand with which he motioned them to be seated, were worth several dollars in themselves. Once seated, there began that exhibition of showy, wasteful, and unwholesome gastronomy as practiced by wealthy Americans, which is the wonder and astonishment of true culture and dignity the world over.

When I started the book I thought Dreiser was using Chicago as a model of a big city and its influence on those who come to it. Then he changed the locale to New York. Do you think this makes any difference in the story?

Sarah

“…more like a city than any place outside Chicago” is a line that caught my attention, because I felt that there was a cultural/historical implication there that I don’t comprehend.  My expectation would have been that New York was the ultimate destination for the aspirational urbanite.

Having accepted that there may be subtleties that pass me by, there is a contrast between Chicago and New York, but it is expressed in terms of the characters’ perceptions thereof.  For Hurstwood New York is considerably less glamorous, making humiliating demands; for Carrie it is more glamorous, the seedy and manual realities she feared in Chicago no longer impinging upon her.

I think the change of locale enables the shift in the relative positions of the protagonists, which will surely prove crucial to the plot, but are the characteristic qualities of each city relevant?

Nancy

I think it is both a psychological shift and a cultural shift. In the U.S. the cities are perceived as different. New York is smoother, richer, more cosmopolitan. Chicago is cruder, more down to earth. I also note that Dreiser is more sarcastic in his comments about the New York scene, as in the passage about dinner at a fancy restaurant, quoted above.

2. Nancy

At times I am annoyed by Carrie’s passivity, her acceptance of whatever comes to her. The prime example was allowing herself to be abducted by Hurstwood. When she does protest, he offers to send her back, but she is indecisive. Since she can’t decide what to do, she stays with him. In New York, she is portrayed several times as thinking, yet we do not know her thoughts. Is she brooding about her situation? The thoughts that we do know are devoted to  material matters.

 The whole street bore the flavor of riches and show, and Carrie felt that she was not of it. She could not, for the life of her, assume the attitude and smartness of Mrs. Vance, who, in her beauty, was all assurance. She could only imagine that it must be evident to many that she was the less handsomely dressed of the two. It cut her to the quick, and she resolved that she would not come here again until she looked better. At the same time she longed to feel the delight of parading here as an equal. Ah, then she would be happy!

When Carrie was still in Chicago, before Hurstwood deceived her into running away with him, she made some effort to find work in the theater. Her failure to do so was part of the reason for accepting what Hurstwood had to offer. For several years in New York, her passive acceptance continued and her judgment of Hurstwood was based on what he could provide for her. There is curiously little action on her part.

Is Dreiser marking time with Carrie’s story in these chapters (27 through 36) so that he can develop Hurstwood’ story?

Sarah

I am not sure that I always entirely believe in Carrie’s passivity.  At the time of the abduction her distress is convincing but at some level she is relieved.  She does not insist that Hurstwood pay her fare back to Chicago, as she might.  Nor does she alert the guard.  The apparent compulsion allows her to save face, if not retain the upper hand.  A complex psychological dance, but Dreiser pulls it off beautifully.

Carrie is a not an easy character to get to grips with.  We are told that she is more intelligent than her male companions but, as you say, she seems to think about little beyond the material.  When she is described as ‘thinking’ it is hard to imagine that she is dwelling on anything beyond the material thoughts to which we are party.  It as if she has the potential but lacks the catalyst.

This section does seems a little like a holding pattern for both parties.  We are heading towards Hurstwood’s ‘decay,’ which I am guessing will be the prompt that finally breaks Carrie out of her passivity.   Because in this part, when there is little threat, she is undeniably passive.   I would have predicted that in New York (where she was told she might better begin a stage career) she would again seek work in the theatre: easier to attempt with the pressure off.

Since Dreiser does not jump to the end of this period we have to ask what his purpose is. There is an interesting contrast as Hurstwood experiences similar fears to those  that have beset Carrie at various parts of the novel, whereas Carrie is relatively comfortable and her fears are proportionately lessened.

Nancy

I think we are both struggling with Carrie’s character. I think you once used the word “manipulate” and Dreiser is doing some of that with what he does and does not show about Carrie’s inner life. I agree with you about Hurstwood’s decay and Carrie’s future reactions to it. I await the event with interest.

3. Nancy

I found Hurstwood’s story more compelling than Carrie’s. (And by the way, whatever happened to Drouet? He was a major character until Dreiser just dropped him.) We have always heard of Hurstwood’s superior qualities, yet he is both unimaginative and weak. He not only does not foresee consequences, he feels persecuted by what he did not foresee.

 As he looked back now and analyzed the situation which led up to his taking the money, he began mildly to justify himself. What had he done–what in the world–that should bar him out this way and heap such difficulties upon him? It seemed only yesterday to him since he was comfortable and well-to-do. But now it was all wrested from him.

Wrested from him? Nobody forced him to pursue Carrie, even though he was a married man, No one forced him to take the money. No one forced him to flee his wife and his position in society. That said, the account of his struggles in New York to support them both and the depressing effects of unemployment ring very true. He avoids old acquaintances, sits in hotel lobbies because they are warm and comfortable and, finally, stays at home, wearing his old clothes.

Was our initial impression of Hurstwood back in Chicago consistent with what comes later? What does Carrie’s attitude toward Hurstwood’s difficulties tell us about her?

 Sarah

I still harbour a (surely unrealistic!) expectation that Drouet will reappear.

Hurstwood is a very different man in New York, but I buy it.  His circumstances have materially changed beyond all recognition.   Money (security) is the driving force in this novel, and access to funds defines who people are and how they behave.

Carrie isn’t sympathetic to Hurstwood, is she?  His plight is pathetic and it is hard not to sympathise, even if he has brought it upon himself.  Carrie’s point of view appears to be one of self-interest. We are told that Carrie does not love Hurstwood (nor he her) but in his former affluent self-assurance, Carrie could then, paradoxically, be moved to solicitous tenderness on his behalf.  Sentiment may appear to her now a luxury she can ill afford.  While finance is an issue Carrie’s personal qualities also appear straitened.  Carrie’s approach is transactional, both consciously and sub-consciously, but to date the chance met Ames is the only character lacking financial cupidity. 

At this point I am curious to see how her talent for acting will play out, if it is thematically significant or not.

Nancy

Yes, let’s see what happens with the acting. Carrie is self-centered. I dislike her at times, not because she has lived with a man she was not married to and now is living with another man under a false (bigamous? ) marriage but because she is selfish.  She is good natured when there is no reason not to be but does not extend herself for anybody else. This may make her a fine actress, as she is an observer with no very deep feelings.

Those who have stayed with us this far may think we have said more than enough. Perhaps we have, but Sarah and I are enjoying the discussion. Now, it’s back to her….

Sister Carrie ~ A Dialogue, Part II

Sister Carrie, the dialogue, continues.  This time it is Sarah’s turn to pose questions, while I answer.  As before, our commentary may be found both here and at A Rat in the Book Pile.

1. Sarah
The second quarter of Sister Carrie continues in much the same vein as the first. The characters are forced through life according to their station and disposition, and Dreiser explains why it is so. Received wisdom says that the author should show not tell, and my feeling is that Dreiser does a lot of telling. Perhaps Dreiser feels this too…

Let me not be quarrelled with for predicating these psychologic truths of the two individuals. The great forces of nature must not be arrogated by the intellectual alone. Refinement is nothing more than the perception and understanding of these things, and whoso understands and feels that these things are true is refined. But the forces themselves may be perceived by the wise, working in the commonest moulds. [...] We have been writing our novels and our philosophies without sufficiently emphasizing them – we have been neglecting to set forth what all men must know and feel about these things before a true and natural life may be led.

I haven’t noticed much overt symbolism or metaphor in Dreiser’s writing, but perhaps it is his sparing use of such devices which renders them vivid. The image of the building storm is extensively used in conjunction with Hurstwood’s dealings with his wife:

If we think of the approach of the thunderstorm we shall get a very good impression of the Hurstwood household at this stage of the game – the thunderstorm that rolls up on even a warm, halcyon summer’s day. At such times, though the atmosphere be heavily charged with electricity and the air ominously still, there is nothing disagreeable about it. [...] its approach enlivens the nervous system, makes wires of the muscles and plays upon the whole body such a symphony of activity as to stir the blood and create pleasurable feeling.

Do you feel that Dreiser is “breaking the rules” with regard to exposition? How would you describe his style generally?

Nancy

We say today that authors should show, not tell, but I see Dreiser as late Victorian in his willingness to tell you what he thinks and what the action means. He is comparable to, for example, Anthony Trollope. I guess I would describe his style as ironic-omniscient. He knows it all, but I don’t feel that he takes it all that seriously.

If you go back to that opening paragraph in Chapter I, the third paragraph of the entire book, he speaks of “the cosmopolitan standard of virtue” which turns out not to be virtue at all. He seems to be mocking the conventional wisdom, both in his plot and in his comments on the characters.

The paragraph you quote (“Let me not be quarreled with…) does sound rather defensive. He may not be entirely confident about what he is up to.

Sarah’s response
On a personal level I am intrigued by the comparison with Trollope, of whom (in my very early reading career) I read a little and liked less. If this is because I am mistaking irony for earnest moralizing then I must certainly try again.

2. Sarah

Several of these twelve chapters are devoted to an ‘entertainment’ being ‘got up’ at Drouet’s lodge; a section which dwells less on feeling and more on action. Carrie’s sortie into amateur dramatics promises much. There is a hint of better things for Carrie:

The little actress marched nervously into the dressing room and began that painfully anticipated matter of make-up which was to transform her, a simple maiden, to Laura, the Belle of Society.

Within the play Carrie takes the rags to riches role, although the outcome of the play is only vaguely detailed in the narrative of the novel.

In the event, despite Carrie’s curious aptitude for staged drama, she is unable to quite pull it off for an audience. Following an initial, incapacitating period of fear and uncertainty, her moments of brilliance are not sustained. In the background, nonetheless, Drouet begins to think of marriage, unsuspecting that in his friend Hurstwood he has a rival for Carrie’s affections, if not hand.

Is Carrie’s performance here prophetic? And what does it tell us about the two men and their intentions?

Nancy

If Carrie’s performance is prophetic, what it foreshadows is her ability to do more than had been expected of her. This not only changes how others feel about her but, probably more important, how Carries feels about herself.

Drouet and Hurstwood were both impressed that Carrie could impress others. Drouet went behind stage to encourage Carrie to perform more effectively and his support did help her to get past her initial fears. Toward the end of the performance, her fears were diminished enough that she began to enjoy her power to move the audience. Her competence increased the desire of both of her lovers, but affected their intentions somewhat differently. Drouet decides to marry her; Hurstwood decides to press for a affair, knowing that marriage is impossible for him.

This play is a turning point in the dance of deception of the three characters. It raises the emotional temperature and leads directly to the revelation of the Hurstwood-Carrie relationship.

Sarah’s response
I was impressed here by the potential for layers of foreshadowing. There is the substance of the play itself, a story of changing fortunes and vice overcome, and then there is Carrie’s performance. Both these aspects affect the men, but it is Hurstwood who appears to be more affected by the fictional element.

3. Sarah

At the end of these twelve chapters the perspective on the tangle between Carrie, Drouet and Hurstwood shifts. Hurstwood, who has been the only character with all the facts at his disposal, is now at a disadvantage as Carrie and Drouet compare notes. We have been told a lot about the relative worth of the two men. Hurstwood is superior to Dreiser, but Carrie is superior to Hurstwood. And yet… The actions of Drouet remind us that his thoughtlessness is backed by a good nature.

The plea was that of a gaunt-faced man of about twenty-eight, who looked the picture of privation and wretchedness. Drouet was the first to see. He handed over a dime with an upwelling feeling of pity in his heart. Hurstwood scarcely noticed the incident. Carrie quickly forgot.

Hurstwood is at a disadvantage from the point of view of the reader because we see him, the married man, amongst his family. Hurstwood’s wife who has been dissected à la Dreiser is not depicted as possessing a very sympathetic personality. Jessica appears as a shadowy figure into the head of whom we have not yet looked in any great detail. However, Hurstwood has been seen driving out with Carrie.

Dr Beale, coming east on the same drive, had recognised Hurstwood, but not before he was past him. He was not so sure of Carrie – did not know whether it was Hurstwood’s wife or daughter.

Do you think the reader is intended to feel sympathy with either man? And is it useful to contrast either Mrs Hurstwood or Jessica with Carrie?

Nancy

At this point in the book, I think the character we are meant to feel sympathy for is Drouet. Although he initially deceived Carrie about his marital intentions, that is pretty much par for a course of seduction, allowing both parties to save face. He encouraged her actingand never did a mean thing. The incident where he gave the man a dime was symbolic of that.Hurstwood, with all his superior graces and tastes, paid no attention to the man who received the dime. He deceives both his wife and Carrie. His support of his wife is grudging, unlike Drouet’s support of Carrie. He has a slick line of talk – and writes an impressive love note, apparently – but drifts into increasingly reckless behavior.I think Mrs. Hurstwood and Jessica are there as foils to Carrie. She is a fallen woman, with few defenses if her supporter rejects her. (Despite that, the generous Drouet pleads with her not to go off on her own.) Mrs. Hurstwood is in a strong legal position and can demand what Carrie cannot. The shadowy Jessica is in pursuit of a suitable husband, one who can support her. She will need a wedding ring to establish her claim to that support.

Sarah’s response

I agree that Drouet is the more sympathetic of the two, and I guess it feeds back into your earlier comments about irony. For all the amiable qualities of sensitivity and refinement attributed to Hurstwood, and the lack of intelligence and understanding in Drouet, their actions undermine the relative values allotted to these characteristics.

For the third part of our Sister Carrie project I will initiate the dialogue. Stand by….

Sister Carrie ~ A Dialogue

Sarah, of A Rat in the Book Pile, and I are experimenting with a project to read Theodore Dreiser’s Sister Carrie together and post our comments in both blogs. We have arbitrarily chopped the novel into quarters. I’m leading off with the first 12 chapters. I haven’t read beyond Chapter 12 yet, so I don’t know what is coming later in the book. My post is a dialogue with Sarah. Please join in. Read along with us and post your comments at either place.

Illustration by Reginald Marsh

1. Nancy
When the novel opens, it is 1888 and an attractive and naïve young woman is on the train to Chicago. Dreiser quickly introduces two important themes: the fate of attractive and naïve young women and the importance of Chicago.

When a girl leaves her home at eighteen, she does one of two things. Either she falls into saving hands and becomes better, or she rapidly assumes the cosmopolitan standard of virtue and becomes worse. Of an intermediate balance, under the circumstances, there is no possibility. The city has its cunning wiles, no less than the infinitely smaller and more human tempter. There are large forces which allure with all the soul fullness of expression possible in the most cultured human. The gleam of a thousand lights is often as effective as the persuasive light in a wooing and fascinating eye.

Is Dreiser saying here that Carrie is not responsible for what happens to her?

Sarah
At such an early stage I am wary of making sweeping statements, but I do have two very distinct impressions of Dreiser’s modus operandi  which pertain directly to your question. 

There is a fatalistic feel to Dreiser’s writing, which comes out most strongly in the interactions between characters.  To say that they behave like clockwork suggests clunky characters and that isn’t what I mean.  There is a tight correlation between cause and effect which doesn’t leave much room for manoeuvre.  Where decision is shown it tends to be in arbitrary situations where the outcome cannot be predicted.  ie whether Carrie looks for work on her first day or her second day.

The other striking characteristic of his writing is the didactic tone.  The narrator strikes me as unusually self-assured. 

At this point I think such observations lead rather to questions than to answers.  If the author is arguing against self-determinism does that leave any useful place for the novel to go?  Are we supposed to take our narrator at face value?  Are there grounds for doubting his world view?

Nancy’s Response
On first reading I thought Dreiser was being declarative; on second reading he somes through as more ironic: This is the conventional wisdom, now I’ll show you have it works out in practice.

Your mention of the fatalistic feel is to the point. Dreiser is usually called a “naturalist” and naturalists are accused of portraying their characters as victims of fate or circumstance.  Isn’t he rather making an honest effort to show how the world really is and how it compels our choices? Carrie’s choice  to live with Drouet is not unreasonable given the time and circumstances. How is it morally different from the girl who marries for money?

2. Nancy
When Dreiser sets his later novel, The Titan, in Chicago we see the city through the eyes of an aggressive and successful financier in his middle years. Chicago looks rather different to Sister Carrie.

These vast buildings, for  what purposes were they there? She could have understood the meaning of a little stone-cutter’s yard at Columbia city, carving little pieces of marble for individual use, but when the yards of some huge stone corporation came into view, filled with spur tracks and flat cars, transpierced by docks from the river and traversed overhead by immense trundling cranes of wood and steel, it lost all significance in her little world.

Carrie does not understand this new environment and she is not introspective, but she has desires:

 Naturally timid in all things that related to her own advancement, and especially so when without power or resource, her craving for pleasure was so strong that it was the one stay of her nature. She would speak for that when silent on all else.

She is not expressive:

 She was no talker. She could never arrange her thoughts in fluent order. It was always a matter of feeling with her, strong and deep.

Is Dreiser being unfair to Carrie? Is he showing her as inadequate to the demands of life?

Sarah
This question stumped me initially.  I got a little confused over the sovereign right of author over character.  Can the author do what he likes with the character?  Certainly.  Is the reader obliged to be convinced?  Certainly not.

But your question of unfairness is more subtle than that, and I see that I have already questioned the unequivocal tone of the narrator.  I am going to sit on the fence and see how this develops.

Inadequate to the demands of life.  Hm.  That leaves a lot of room for nuance.  Inadequate for which life?  The one we might wish for her?  The one she would wish for herself?  If Dreiser is indeed a fatalistic writer then we would have to say that she is ideally suited for the demands of life.  My considered opinion is that Dreiser is showing us what sort of life she may expect.

Nancy’s response
I agree with you. Carrie is a certain kind of person who acts in a certain kind of way amd Dreiser’s job is to convince us to believe in her. Mostly Dreiser is non judgemental about Carrie’s actions – so far at least – but he is playing against the conventional expectations for young women in novels who go astray. When you consider the moralistic outcry about the book at the time of publication, it was less that people were convinced and more than they were outraged to be convinced. As you say, adequate to what life?

 3.Nancy
I was very struck by the social criticism embedded in the novel. When Carrie looks for work in the big, unfamiliar city we experience all the fatigue and uncertainty of the unsuccessful job seeker. When she does find a job, we learn exactly what such a demeaning occupation involves.

Her hands began to ache at the wrists and then in the fingers and towards the last she seemed one mass of dull, complaining muscles, fixed in an eternal position and performing a single mechanical movement which become more and more distasteful, until at last it was absolutely nauseating. When she was wondering whether the strain would ever cease, a dull-sounding bell clanged somewhere down an elevator shaft, and the end came.

I thought that the true account of the working world was the most moving section of what I have read so far. On the other hand Dreiser’s meditations on the meaning of Carrie’s loss of virtue seemed rather artificial to me.

What do you think?

Sarah
Having spent a year of my youth temping around production lines Dreiser’s depiction here provokes an empathetic wince.  Both in terms of physical discomfort and the loss of individuality which accompanies such employment.  Carrie’s initial pursuit of employment is also moving and perhaps one of the few places where Dreiser doesn’t directly inform our view of Carrie.  From her hesitation, her own evaluation of her worth is evidently not high and, although Dreiser talks in terms of cowardice and scant courage, I think we have to admire Carrie’s bravery in entering any of the intimidating establishments from which she expects so little.

 The references to Carrie’s ‘fall,’ bemused me.  There is never, I think, an explicit acknowledgement that Carrie has succumbed to Drouet but, given her status as kept woman, there is no possibility that a sexual pay-off is not involved.  It was some time before I realised that the dream of Carrie’s sister, Minnie, marked the beginning of Carrie’s point of no return.

 

‘Carrie,’ she called, “Carrie,” but her own voice was far-away-sounding and the strange waters were blurring everything.  She came away suffering as though she had lost something.  She was more inexpressibly sad than she had ever been in life.

It was this way through many shifts of the tired brain, those curious phantoms of the spirit slipping in, blurring strange scenes one with the other.  The last one made her cry out, for Carrie was slipping away somewhere over a rock, and her fingers had let loose and she had seen her falling.

 

I thought this the first and only instance of true humanity to date, and it is expressed through unconscious thought.  I wonder if it is significant, or just a reflection of the historic imperative compelling Dreiser to illustrate this aspect of Carrie’s life with circumspection?

 

Some of Dreiser’s meditations on Carrie’s condition take the form of internal conversation between Carrie’s conscience and some other driving force.   Even if reason says such notions are hypocritical there is, I think, a culturally ingrained disapproval of the kept woman.  Do you think Dreiser’s artifice is his method of expressing Carrie’s own sense of unease whilst carefully maintaining his non-judgemental standpoint?

Nancy’s Response
The production line experience and the sexual payoff to Drouet are related. Which is more demeaning? Drouet valued Carrie and took care of her; the industrial system did not.

I thought Minnie’s dream was striking because it was a very emotional expression of what it meant for a young woman to do what Carrie had done. Yet Carrie does not express it! It comes from her sister, the conventional member of the family. Carrie’s own thoughts are rather more detached. Conscience may speak from time to time, but her feelings are not strongly involved.

I also think Dreiser is being somewhat evasive here. A few years later, in The Financier, he was more direct in recounting a seduction, showing that both parties desired and enjoyed the relationship.

To be continued.

Over to you, Sarah….

Theodore Dreiser, The Titan

Frank Algernon Cowperwood, The Financier of Theodore Dreiser’s novel of that name, made and lost and remade a fortune in Philadelphia. After a term in the penitentiary there, he left for Chicago with his capital intact and his mistress eager for marriage as soon as he should have divorced his wife. The Titan continues the story in Chicago.

“I satisfy myself” was always Cowperwood’s approach to life. Not a cruel man, he had some understanding of the needs of others. Nevertheless, he coolly played for every advantage and knew that his gifts entitled him to do so.

Often now, in these preliminary days, he looked at the large companies of men with their horses gathered in and about the several carbarns of the company, and wondered at their state. So many of them were so dull. They were rather like animals, patient, inartistic, hopeless. He thought of their shabby homes, their long hours, their poor pay, and then concluded if anything at all could be done for them it would be to pay them decent living wages, which he proposed to do — nothing more. They could not be expected to understand his dreams or his visions, or to share in the magnificence and social dominance which he craved.

Cowerperwood dreams big, but all his dreams are of Cowperwood. Art he admires — the skill, the mastery — and he becomes a collector. His dreams of women are the dreams also of a collector.

He was by now so familiar with types and kinds of women that an exceptional type — quite like an exceptional horse to a judge of horse flesh — stood out in his mind with singular vividness. Quite as in some great racing stable an ambitious horseman might imagine that he detected in some likely filly the signs and lineaments of the future winner of a Derby, so in Berenice Fleming… Cowperwood previsioned the central figure of a Newport lawn fete or a London drawing room.

Interesting as Cowperwood’s amorous adventures are, they are less alive than Dreiser’s accounts of his financial manipulations. The stories of how the great match trust went bust and how the utility commission bill wiggled its way through the Illinois State legislature are told with a true reporter’s relish for double dealing of all sorts, when the game is dealt by experts.